Picturesque
by Princess-Warrior 17
Summary: As another day rolls around, Freddie Benson stumbles out of bed. He goes to work and comes home, only to toss down another drink to ease the pain. Life has stood still for him for the past six months-ever since his wife, Sam, left him. What exactly happened between them? And will things eventually be fixed? Join Freddie on his journey to discover what "picturesque" really means.


**A/N: **

_Well, hello. I realize I owe all of my readers an apology. Guys, I'm sorry it's been ions since I updated anything for iCarly. But, we all know what it's been like since the show ended. If you didn't read my profile, I made a statement saying that I wasn't sure if was going to continue to write for this fandom. I was pretty sure about my decision...until I randomly starting typing one day, about two weeks ago. This became the product of just slamming my fingers on the keyboard. I'm still not sure if I'll keep writing for iCarly, but this is a start. _

_**Picturesque** is a different type of story. It's not fluffy and happy, like my other Seddie fics are. It's slightly darker, and the characters are quire OOC. It's my story, so they're entitled to act differently than they normally would. Please let me know what you think, regardless. I'm a bit rusty when it comes to writing, so no major criticisms please.  
_

**Disclaimer:  
**

_I don't own iCarly. If I did, I would be a very happy lady. Oh, and I don't own Lana Del Ray's "Young and Beautiful," which this story is based off of. If you haven't listened to it, go do so! It's hauntingly amazing. I borrowed a line from Bethany Hamilton, too. And a little snippet from Harry Potter. Other than those things, all the rest of the ideas are mine. _

* * *

**Picturesque **

I twirled my silver wedding ring in my hands, letting out a sigh. Leaning back in the stiff, wooden chair, I glanced at the calendar and bit my lip.

Today was supposed to be a special day. I was supposed to come home from work with a dozen white roses and a box of chocolate-covered bacon for her. I was supposed to have an eight course meal with her at an extravagant French restaurant. After eating, we would stroll along the river, holding hands. The glimmering full moon would cast a faint shadow on her delicate face, highlighting her milky skin and endlessly blue eyes. I would tell her that even though we had married for three years, every day felt like the first day of our love. Then, we would return to our house to make love for the rest of the evening.

Yes, that was how it was supposed to be. Sadly, that wasn't the case.

The calendar taunted me, causing me to wince and turn my head away. I couldn't stand staring at it when I knew the date. Another sigh left my mouth as I set the ring down on the table. I could feel a single tear make its way down my cheek, running until it dropped onto my shirt.

August 14th. Sam and mine's wedding anniversary. Today was it, but we were half a world away from each other. She was probably sitting under the Tuscan sun with a glass of wine and a new man. I couldn't stop myself from whimpering at the idea. Not only did my heart ache, but every part of me stung with pain.

If you asked me to explain what had happened between Sam and me, I couldn't for the life of me tell you. Every night I lay awake in bed, tossing and turning, hoping to find the answer to that question. And each time I tried, I came up empty.

Things had been somewhat tense for the last few months, but I never thought it would lead to this. Both Sam and I faced challenges at work on a daily basis, but I guess the pressure became too much. One fight was all it took for us to break. We argued about something stupid, she stormed out with her bags packed, and couple weeks later, I was served with divorce papers. No explanation, no apology. Just a package of papers that said she wanted to end the very thing that kept us together for so long.

I still hadn't signed them; they were sitting in the drawer of the heavy oak desk beside our—_my_—bed. I couldn't look at them. They had been resting there, gathering dust for nearly six months. It was pathetic how I was treating the whole thing, but it was out of my control. Every god damn thing was out of my control these days.

Reaching up, I brushed away any remaining tears that had escaped. I rose from the chair and headed towards the kitchen cabinet where the whiskey was stored. Grabbing a bottle of _Jack Daniels,_ I ripped off the top, tipped the container into my mouth, and relished the bitter amber liquid as it flowed down my throat. The burn from the alcohol eased some of the agony I felt. It took the edge off slightly, but I was going to need a lot more to feel completely numb.

It didn't take me long to drain the bottle and fling it into the cardboard box sitting on the floor. My body craved another gulp of the tantalizing alcohol, so I spun around and took a hold of a second one. Before I could take a hefty swig, my cell phone blared from the other room.

"Damn it," I muttered, dashing to get the device.

Once I located it, I hit the 'call accept' without looking at who the caller was.

"What do you want?" I growled, not bothering to hide my disgust at who was interrupting my drinking time.

"Freddie?" the soft voice said.

Gripping the edge of the table, I released a breath I hadn't known I had held.

"Sam?" I blurted out.

"Yes, it's me. Are you okay, Freddie? You sound like you've been drinking."

Grinding my teeth, I sank down into the chair. We hadn't spoken for six months and she decided to call me up on _this_ day? Did she not have any decency at all?

"What the hell do you want? Did you call to torture me? Well, you've done an amazing job of that," I spat, hoping to hit her where it hurt.

"Freddie, please don't do this."

She sounded like she was the verge of tears. Good. She deserved it.

"Do what? You mean talk to you like you should be talked to? It's been six months. What the fuck do you want me to do?"

"Just let me explain," she whispered, and I could hear her voice crack.

"Explain? You have nothing to explain. You left me here all alone and then sent me divorce papers! I highly doubt you can justify yourself."

"_Please_, Freddie. _Please_ listen to me."

"Goodbye, Sam." I pulled the phone away from my ear to end the call.

I threw the gadget across the room, and instead of smashing against the wall into a million pieces, it landed on the couch. Grunting, I sprinted to the closet near the front door. Tossing on my coat and taking my keys, I walked out of the house, slamming the door behind me. All thoughts of Sam left my mind as I drove off, in search of bar that was stocked full of alcohol.

* * *

It didn't take me long to locate the right place. (I was more than familiar with it, considering the bartender and I knew each other on a first name basis.) The bar was fairly vacant, so I didn't have to worry about people dealing with my obnoxious attitude.

"Freddie, how are you?" Joe, the bartender, said, while he took in my disheveled appearance. He polished a wine glass and hung it on the rack above his head.

"Could be better," I mumbled. "Hit me up, man."

"Usual?" he asked, turning around to grab a container of strong Scottish brandy.

"Yeah. I'll try anything you make me tonight, though. As long as it's got alcohol, I'll be good."

"You got it. I'd ask what's wrong like I usually do, but I doubt you'd tell me. Today must be worse than the rest."

Joe gave me a sympatric look before popping the top off the bottle and pouring the liquid into a small glass. Pushing it towards me, he nodded and leaned against the bar.

I swallowed some of the brandy, wincing at the impact it had on me. Sometimes I forgot how potent liquor could be. I set the glass down, and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. Fixing Joe with a frown, I stared at him, urging him to say what was on his mind. He was obviously scrutinizing me, his green eyes crinkling with concern. He ran a hand through his silvery hair and sighed.

"Today was supposed to be Sam and mine's anniversary. That's why I'm like this."

I motioned to myself, pointing out my blood-shot eyes, ruffled hair, loosened tie, and button-up with a few buttons missing.

"Freddie," Joe began. "You've got to take care of yourself. It's been six months. You can't keep coming in here expecting to get plastered, have me call cab for you, and then beg me to drive your car back to your house. It's not right. I get that you're still broken about the whole thing, but can't you just _talk_ to her?"

"I did."

I took another large guzzle of my drink and motioned for another. He nodded once, filling it up to the rim.

"And you're still here? Did you guys not solve your problem?"

Glaring at the man, I shook my head, tipping my head back for another mouthful.

"She wanted to explain but I told her there was no way she could justify herself. She _left_ me, Joe. She left me alone with a house to pay for, a job to manage, and broken heart. How could I possibly forgive her?"

"You learn to," he answered bluntly. He got himself an ice-water and took a sip before continuing. "Look, I understand why you're upset. I would be, too, if I were you. Hell, I probably would have treated this situation the same way. But you learn to let go because when you do, it hurts a lot less than holding on to it. Trust me, Freddie. I know what I'm talking about."

"How?" I barked. "You live happily with your wife. I never hear you complaining about her."

I downed the rest of the glass and told him to mix up a Long Island Iced Tea with double the alcohol. A few of those and I'd be heading home in a cab like usual.

He got the ingredients together and started mixing. "I don't have much to complain about. Lucy is the best woman on the planet. Don't know what I'd do without her."

"See? That's what I'm talking about. You don't know what real heartache is like."

He placed the Long Island in front of me with a grimace. "I beg to differ, little man."

"I'm not little. I'm thirty-two," I snarled, and opened my mouth to take the alcoholic drink in. It didn't burn like the brandy did, but left a pleasant taste instead.

"You think we would have survived if we hadn't had a fight or two? Lucy and I didn't—and still don't—have the perfect relationship. But that's life. If everything was simple, it wouldn't be worth it. It's kind of funny, actually."

I gave him a confused look that said, _"What are you blabbering on about?"_

He waved his wand, letting out a small chuckle. "Your Sam is just like Lucy. Both women are feisty, sarcastic, and full of fire. At times, that fire gets us in trouble, especially when she thinks she's right." He drank some more water and pressed on with his speech.

"We separated for an entire two years. I left her and moved to a different state to start new life for myself. We communicated through letters, so it wasn't like we were completely cut off from each other. Then, one day, she showed up on my doorstep and demanded that we talk. And during that conversation, we realized we were just as messed up without each other as we were with one another. It wasn't easy for her to forgive me; it took _months_ before we could work out our differences. But we managed to do it, and since then, we haven't been apart."

"She's the other half of your puzzle," I murmured, raising the cool glass to my lips for a sip.

"Yes. As cheesy as it may sound, she completes me. I love her, despite the fact that she's wild and crazy. I've never met another woman who's touched my heart the way she has touched mine."

As soon as he said that, I felt a tug on own my heart. My very shattered and beaten heart. The sad part was, I knew exactly what he meant. And it fucking sucked that Sam wasn't here to complete me.

Before I could anything in response, a woman in a red and white flower print dress plopped down into the seat that was one away from me. A white hat adorned her head, concealing her face.

"Gin and tonic, please," she said to Joe.

He nodded, motioning to me to give him a minute while he prepared her drink. She turned slightly, giving me a view of her soft brown curls that framed her face. A pair of large, expensive sunglasses shielded her eyes, even though we were indoors. She said nothing as she waited patiently for her drink. Instead, she reached for the ash tray on the edge of the bar. Opening her purse, she pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and began to take a drag.

The smoke drifted in my direction, its putrid smell curling around me. I may have been all too enticed by alcohol, but smoking was still a definite no-no. I didn't understand how people could stand to kill their lung cells like that. Then again, I suppose I was doing the same thing to my liver with the alcohol. Oh, well. I was nothing if not a huge contradiction.

"Could you please not blow your filth on me, ma'am?" I asked tersely, turning away from her with a sneer on my face.

"Wow, you must be in a bad mood," she snapped, but did what I had asked. She transferred her cigarette into her other hand, so the smoke flowed in the opposite direction.

"I'm just not a fan of people who invade my space with their disgusting habits. I'm good with drinking, but smoking is another issue." My tone wasn't any less cold, but I shifted a bit so I could see her.

"I'd call you a bastard, but that'd be rude for a first impression," she laughed snidely, flicking the ash into the tray. Her ruby red lips arched into a smirk.

"Well, thank you. Appreciate your concern," I answered sardonically.

"Any time."

By then, Joe had finished her gin and tonic. As soon as he delivered it, she brought it up to her lips to taste.

A couple of other guests arrived at the bar, and Joe shot me an apologetic look before dashing off to help them. I got the feeling he still wanted to talk, but he had business to attend to first. I gave him a gentle nod to signal that we would continue our discussion later.

"So, what's your deal?" She took another drag on her cigarette, raising an eyebrow.

"None of your business."

"Fine. Have it your way." She held up her hands up in defeat, and went back to smoking and drinking.

I was fine with the silence, until she started to tap her perfectly manicured fingernails on the bar. The _tip-tap_ drove me absolutely insane, clawing at my desire to strangle the woman. I could tell this was her tactic to get information out of me. For whatever reason, I had no idea. Why would she even care?

Groaning, I relented and threw the rest of my drink into my mouth.

"I'm in the middle of relationship problems. My wife wants a divorce, but I haven't signed the papers yet. She's currently living in Italy to figure things out. Of course, she decided to call me today after six months of no communication. She wanted to explain, and I didn't let her. End of story," I said in a clipped voice.

Scoffing, the mysterious woman set down her glass. She ground the rest of the cigarette in the tray and turned fully to face me.

"I was right. You _are_ a bastard," she announced.

"Excuse me? I don't think you have the right to call me that. You barely know me! I would call you a bitch, but I have more class than that," I growled.

"You really think you don't know me?" With one of her hands, she removed her sunglasses.

The sight shocked me. Without the barrier of lenses, I could clearly see her eyes. The big, brown eyes that I had known all of my life. The ones that used to get me to do anything because she would pout and say, "Please for me?"

"Carly Shay?"

"Honestly, Freddie. I'm surprised you didn't figure it out by the sound of my voice."

She let out a laugh, but this one wasn't tainted with any sarcasm or anger. It was a silvery laugh, the kind she used to have when we were children.

"How is this possible? You're supposed to be in Italy with your fiancé. Not here, in a bar with me!"

My head spun with confusion, while my hand moved to grip my empty glass. I raised it a bit, so Joe would get the hint that I needed another. He met my gaze, nodded his head once, and began fetching the items needed to make a second Long Island.

"Don't flatter yourself, Benson. I didn't come here to find you. I was searching for good bar, and I heard this place had an awesome bartender. You just happened to be sitting here and I recognized you. As for the Italy part, well I'm here instead. Good enough for you?"

She returned to the moody, cynical tone. If I didn't know any better, I would say she was Sam in disguise. She had _never_ spoken to me like this before; she was Ms. Poised and Innocent. She loved smiles, hugs, and rainbows. How had she changed so much in such a short amount of time?

"No, that's not good enough for me. I want to know why you're here and what's gotten into you." I gestured toward the dead cigarette and her half finished drink on the table.

"Aren't we focusing on your issues?" she asked cryptically, grabbing the gin and tonic.

Joe chose that moment to briefly interrupt and hand me my new Long Island. A small smile made its way onto my lips to show him that I appreciated it. He grinned in response, and turned on his heel to give us some privacy.

Shifting my attention back to Carly, I took a slow breath. The only way to get her to say anything was if I was gentle. It wouldn't help if I forced it out of her; I had to coax it. Even if she was being a stick in the mud, it wouldn't take much effort to persuade her.

"Tell me what's wrong, Carly. Don't pretend like I won't care. You know very well that any business of yours is something I need to concern myself with. Really, what's the reason why you're here?"

She swallowed, visibly paling. Her red lips dropped into a deep frown, and in that moment, I saw the vulnerable, emotional girl from years ago. Her eyes softened, relaxing a bit from their formally frozen state.

"Antonio called off the engagement," she whispered, trying to mask the hurt.

Glancing down, I realized she was telling the truth. A skillfully cut diamond band didn't rest on her finger anymore. The only thing left was a little mark to indicate that there had once been a ring there. Without any conscious thought, my hand touched hers. Squeezing it softly, I gave her the most sympathetic look I could muster. Truly, I felt sorry for her.

Antonio Bianchi had been Carly's love for the longest time. They met when she first moved to Italy because his father was stationed at the same base that Colonel Shay was. Carly and Antonio remained close friends through the rest of high school and college. It wasn't a shock when they started dating after they both graduated from college—I could have predicted it ions before that. Carly's affections for him went way beyond the normal flirting she did with guys. She adored him, and up until now, he seemed like loved her.

Actually, it was rather ironic that he decided to propose to Carly on the same day Sam and I got married. He asked her at our reception, and I remembered how she almost swooned. She was always a sucker for the super romantic stuff, and Antonio definitely pulled a 'Prince Charming' stunt with that move. They had been engaged for a good three years now, and I was seriously wondering when the wedding would be. Well, I didn't have to worry about that answer now…

"I'm so sorry, Carly. I'm not exactly sure what to say other than I'm incredibly sorry."

Sniffling, she shook her head. "I would say it's okay, but it's not. I'm not really okay as you can tell." She pointed at the the drink and the cigarette. "I realize these are terrible habits, but they take the edge off. I started smoking shortly after you and Sam got married. It's something most Italians do, and I got sucked into it. I don't drink all that much; a glass of wine a day is usually my limit."

Gazing into her warm brown eyes, I asked the question that would probably cause her the most pain.

"Do you know why he called it off?"

"Yes." She paused before launching into the explanation.

"His family doesn't approve of me, even though we've been together for so long. I overheard him talking to his mother the other day. They spoke in hushed tones, and my Italian is good enough that I knew exactly what he was saying. They argued for about an hour, and his mother said that while I was pretty and smart, I wasn't 'Italian' enough for her taste. I suppose my job as a journalist doesn't impress her. Proper Italian women aren't writers. They cook, they clean, and they raise families. Or, they become famous attorneys or doctors. They don't pour over the news or document their feelings." Sighing, she grimaced and hung her head.

I furrowed my brow. "Wait, so he broke up the engagement because his family doesn't like you? That's ridiculous!"

"No kidding. I've been with the man for so many years, I lost count! I don't understand how they can suddenly think I'm wrong for him." She rolled her eyes, but they swam with sadness.

"Was there another girl involved?"

She shrugged. "Maybe. I heard him whisper something about 'Francesca,' whoever the hell she is. She's probably who his mother wants him to marry. At any rate, he dropped the bomb a few days ago. And the bastard asked if we could still be friends! Like I need another friend," she snorted, picking up her drink for another sip.

I gulped a bit of the Long Island, then pushed it aside. The alcohol didn't taste nearly as good now that I was in the middle of this drama.

"So, you ran away and came back here," I reiterated.

"Yes. I left him with our villa and everything. I just took my personal things and grabbed the next available plane back to Seattle. I couldn't stand to stay in the same country with the man who doesn't know his priorities. _Hello_.I've been waiting years to get married, and now's the time he decides it isn't the right choice."

"But what about your job?"

She waved her hand dismissively, almost as if the mere thought bored her.

"It was nice, but I don't have a problem with leaving it behind. I called the agency on the way to the airport and explained the whole thing. After I settle down in Seattle, I'll get in contact with them again. We'll work something out. I could always write here, and send them my stuff. If not, I already have a degree in journalism. I'm sure I can find another job if need be. It'll be easier if I can write in English anyway, instead of Italian. No worries."

I gave a dry chuckle, leaning back in my seat with my arms crossed. "You seem nonchalant about this."

She shrugged once more, her mouth curving into cheerless smile.

"What do you expect? It's not worth it to be too upset. Antonio wasn't the right one for me because he chose to leave me on a moment's notice. I'm actually glad that I didn't end up with him. Who knows what married life would have been like?"

"True. Still, I'm sorry. I know things aren't okay right now, but are you _going_ to be all right?"

She nodded. "Eventually. I think I need some time to think. Plus, Spencer will want to see me now that I'm here. He'll probably let me stay in our old apartment, which will be nice. I miss Seattle, you know? Italy's pretty, but it's nothing like home."

"Yeah, I know what you mean." My voice dropped a couple of octaves, and my eyes moved away from her face to glance across the bar.

"I think we should go back to your issues, Freddie," Carly said quietly, shoving her drink towards the edge of the bar to signal that she was done.

"Don't want to," I mumbled childishly.

"We talked about mine. It's your turn," she declared firmly, and her hand shot out to grab onto my shoulder.

"What's there to know? My life sucks. End of story."

"Funny. That's what Sam keeps on saying, too."

My eyes widened at her words, and if I had been drinking my Long Island, I would have spewed it all over us.

"You've been talking to _Sam_?"

Tucking some of her hair behind her ear, she frowned. "More like helping her with her problems. She would moan about her failed relationship with you, and expect me to fix it. Well, newsflash, we're not sixteen anymore. You guys are adults now, and even though I'm a friend to both you, I can't say the magic words to make all of your troubles disappear anymore."

"Wait, back it up there. She came over to _see_ you?"

My heartbeat thundered in my ears, and my hands felt slick with sweat. I could even feel some perspiration on the back of my neck.

Rolling her eyes, she giggled. "Who do you think housed her? Sam may make a lot of money as an editor for a prestigious food magazine_,_ but she didn't want to buy an apartment in Italy in case she needed to come back. I gave her a room at the villa, and she's been living with me."

My head fell into my hands. This was too much to handle. Not to mention, the alcohol was starting to course through my veins, making my train of thought blurry. The only thing I wanted at the moment was to crawl into bed and decay away. Unfortunately, I was stuck in a conversation with Carly Shay that I couldn't get out of.

"Freddie, you need to talk to her," she said, causing me to lift my head. "And I wouldn't wait too long to do so. Although, I'm sure she'll show up on your doorstep. It's only a matter of time."

"She's _here_?" I squeaked, voice raising a few octaves.

She laughed, smirking a bit. "Well, I wasn't going to leave her alone at the villa with Antonio. There's no telling what she'd do to him. I'm glad she got rid of the butter sock; otherwise he'd already be dead. I may not be happy with him, but I'd rather not go to prison for being an accomplice for murder."

"Carly, now's not the time for jokes! Sam is in Seattle, and I have no idea what to do!" I sputtered, throwing my arms up in exasperation.

Taking a deep breath, she took a hold of my shoulders to fix me with a death glare.

"First of all, calm the hell down. We are not going to solve anything if you're shrieking like a banshee. Second, why are you surprised she's back in town? Did you honestly think she called you from Italy? God, Freddie. As smart as you are, you're just as clueless."

Without any hesitation, she withdrew one of her hands to thump me on the forehead.

"Ow! What was that for?" I yelped, removing her other hand from my shoulder.

"For being an idiot."

"Gee, thanks." I rolled my eyes. "You know, the more time you spend with Sam, the more like her you are. I've never seen you so violent and rude in all of my life."

"Time and heartbreak do that to a girl," she retorted evenly. "Anyway, you need to talk to her. Give her a chance, Freddie. She just wants to explain some things. Look, I'm not siding with her. She has a lot of reasons to be sorry for, but I can't tell you what they are. You have to hear them yourself. All I'm asking is for you to listen. I want you two to be happy again. It kills me seeing Sam so defeated, and you don't look like you're handling it well, either."

She pointed to my unkempt appearance and my drink, indicating she knew how I had been treating myself for the last six months.

"What do I even say?" I questioned, sounding like a lost puppy.

"I can't tell you what to say. You'll know when the time comes. Just listen to her first, and then let her know what you're thinking. You'll figure it out, one way or another."

I did a double-take, glancing at Carly to see if she was real. "Since when did you become philosophical? You used to love meddling."

She held up her pointer to finger in objection. "Key word: _used_ to. It's too much drama now. I'd rather have you decide what to do. Less work for me, and it's better for you."

"If I wasn't quite as civilized, I would smack you," I said, chuckling.

"Oh, I'm sure." Her voice dripped with sarcasm, but her eyes twinkled with the slightest bit of glee.

"I don't know, Carly. Sam and I…we've been separated for six months. I really don't want a divorce, but what if it comes down to it? I feel like I hardly know her anymore."

I cast my gaze to floor, feeling the familiar ache in my chest. In the next moment, I felt my chin being lifted up to look into Carly's eyes.

"I know. And I know it hurts. Every part of you is screaming to run away. But you have to be strong enough to deny that desire. You have to face up to Sam, and finally talk to her about what happened. She's reaching out to you, so take her hand. It's time."

"I hate it when you're right."

A quiet laugh left her mouth. "Everyone hates it when I'm right."

Sighing, I agreed. "I would ask you what I should do to get in contact her, but you'll probably say that it's up to me, right?"

"Yup. Like I said, I can only guide you in the right direction. I'm done telling people what to do step-by-step."

"Thanks, Carly. I mean it." I forced a smile before waving to Joe. "Well, I should get going. It's been a long night, and I have some thinking to do. Joe's gonna call me a cab, so I'll talk to you later. Stay in touch while you're here, okay?"

"Not so fast. Joe is not calling a cab. I'll take you home, you dunce."

"Carly, you don't have to…" I trailed off when she glowered at me.

"I am taking you home, no arguments. I'll figure out a way to get your car back to your house once you're in bed."

Hanging my head, I mumbled, "Yes, ma'am."

Joe slid to our side of the bar and smiled. "So, I hear the lady is taking you home?" he asked me.

"Yeah, she is. Old friend," I explained, nudging Carly.

"I'm not that old," she retorted, sticking her tongue out.

Joe and I both laughed. "All right, Freddie. Do you want me to ring you up then?"

"I've got him," she interrupted, pulling out her wallet from her purse.

"What? No, Carly. You're not paying for my drinks. My problem, my bill," I argued, reaching into my back pocket to fish out a bundle of cash.

"Uh, no. I'll get you this time. Plus, if things work out with you and Sam, you're going to go broke spending money on her. Trust me, she's not a cheap date."

"You've got that right. I learned about her tendencies to run through money like water early on. But, fine. This is the _only_ time I'm allowing you to do this." Crossing my arms, I stared defiantly at her.

"Whatever." Rolling her eyes, she slapped a credit card down on the table.

Joe ran it up quickly, cashing us both out. "You're all set," he said.

"Thanks," Carly responded, rising out of her seat. She touched my arm to get my attention. "Freddie, I'm going outside to smoke a cigarette. I'm sure you want to say a few words to Joe, so come out when you're done." With that, she turned and walked away.

As soon as she was out of ear-shot, Joe dropped his voice. "Old friend?" he questioned.

"Yeah. We met in middle school, and we've been friends since then. Actually, Sam, Carly, and I were known as iCarly for a while. We did this web-show for a better part of our adolescent years." I smiled, recalling some of our greatest memories as the Golden Trio.

"Right, I know what you're talking about. My granddaughter occasionally pulls up an old webisode of yours. I can't help but laugh along with her. Funny stuff." His eyes danced, and I was pretty sure it had less to do with us and more to do with his granddaughter.

"Thank you. Anyway, I know you're going to ask if I'm all right, and I believe I will be. I have some things to think about, but I'll fill you in once everything gets squared away." Standing up, I stretched my arms over my head. "Thanks for everything, Joe. You had some good insight, too."

"Any time, Freddie. Come again, but this time, bring your _wife._"

"I'll try to."

He waved one last time before I left, closing the heavy steel door behind me.

* * *

As I lay in bed, hands behind my head, I reflected on every moment I had with Sam. There were a lot, starting with all of the years she put me through both physical and emotional pain. But I was always a masochist, so in a twisted way, I kind of liked it.

Simply put, I just liked Sam. It took me an eternity to realize it, considering I was fooling myself with the image of Carly and me. Of course, when I figured out that we didn't have chemistry between us, I quickly let myself be pushed into Sam's trap. No, I didn't fall in love. I was _pushed_ by a blonde-headed demon.

Sighing, I closed my eyes. Memories of Sam flooded my brain, and unlike usual, I let them. On a normal day, I tried not to think about her at all; I had a job and a house to worry about, after all. But after Carly's advice, I focused specifically on details about Sam.

I envisioned her blonde hair, soft as silk. I loved curling a strand of her hair around my finger when we were in bed together. Each time I did that, she would look at me through half-asleep eyes, yawn, and tell me to hold her tighter. Every night, she would curl herself against my side, head resting against the side of my neck. It was oddly comfortable for the both of us, so we usually stayed in that position until morning.

One thing I never tired of was her scent. It must have been a combination of her shampoo and body wash, but she managed to smell like strawberries and honey every time. When she wasn't looking, or when she was asleep, I would bury my nose in her hair. Her scent calmed me down, and made me think that no matter what, she would always be by my side. My heart clenched at the past tense, but I shifted my attention to something else about her.

Her milky complexion was one of her best features. She was all cream and roses; whenever she felt embarrassed or happy, a velvety pink would wash across her creamy white cheeks. I remembered chuckling each time she blushed, running my thumb over the areas where the pink showed up the most. I would tell her she looked adorable, and she would respond by widening her eyes to play up the innocent girl look.

God, her eyes. Those things were extremely dangerous; with one look, she could get me to do anything. Not only was it the color (they were an intoxicating shade of blue), but it was the way she used them. Whenever she gazed into my eyes, hers would give away every emotion she was feeling. She may have been a snarky, sarcastic woman, but her eyes said otherwise. Despite the mischievous glint they held, they were _pure. _I had never seen eyes as clear as hers—she could be read like book, when she wanted to be. Sam was great at building walls, but when those walls came crashing down, there was absolutely no barrier.

Beyond the physical characteristics of Sam, there were little things she would say or do that would either cause me to rip my hair to shreds, or fall over laughing due to her crazy antics. I never knew which I would end up doing; she loved to surprise me. And as much as I hated to admit it, I found everything she did endearing. Even when she almost burned the house down trying to make dinner one night. Or, the time she broke two lamps, three plates, and a wine glass or two because I had done something incredibly stupid.

Life with Sam was like a roller coaster. It went up and down, around and around. There were times where the ride was exhilarating—when my heart would speed up and adrenaline would kick in. And there were times when I wanted to just jump off because the ride was exhausting. She always managed to take up all of my energy, but in ways, it was kind of nice. Her personality demanded attention; she would walk into a room and immediately, eyes would be drawn to her. She was simply…enchanting.

But I wouldn't trade in any of those things. I wouldn't ask for a quieter girl who would listen to everything I told her. I wouldn't ask for someone who was polite and courteous, smiling at everyone and faking their way through life. I wouldn't ask for someone who made my life easy. I wouldn't ask for anyone other than Sambecause they wouldn't be worth it. As cliché as it sounded, she was one in a million. There were sweet, humble girls around every corner, begging to be saved by their Prince Charming. There was only one girl who didn't need to be saved—my wife.

Realizing that thinking was too much work for my brain, I shot out of bed and raced to the closet. I had to make sure it was still there, and after shifting some clothes out of the way, I found it. Reaching out, I noticed how badly my hands shook. I removed the cloth that covered it, sighing in relief when I saw that it was exactly how I last left it. Tentatively, I touched it, feeling the softness underneath my fingertips. My eyes roamed over the surface, and in that moment, I knew I would talk to her tomorrow. She had to know how much I missed her—how much I needed her. I wasn't sure how I would get in contact with her, but I would find a way.

When you love someone, you fight for them, even when all odds are against you. You bust your ass to fix what you can, and if that means standing out in the rain or waiting by a window all night, then you do it. Everyone deserves to find the missing part of their puzzle.

And it was time to get my puzzle piece back.

* * *

The next day began normally—it was the same routine I had done for six months. Get up, shower, eat breakfast, get dressed for work, go to work, come home and get smashed. Sure, everything seemed mundane, but at least it was predictable. No surprises to come jump out at me. As a kid, I had my 'Freddie Benson Master Plan' because I couldn't stand unpredictability. Of course, that all went out the window when Sam waltzed into my life. There wasn't a day with her where I could expect anything.

But I was determined to change the dullness; it was time, like Carly had said. After rushing home from the office (I worked for Pear; surprise, surprise), I showered again (because really, you can never be too clean) and dressed in a pair of dark wash jeans and a white button-up. Running my hands through my hair, I took a deep breath.

The plan was to call Sam (I got the number from Carly—she left it in my car when she dropped it off last night). I would apologize for being a jackass yesterday, and hopefully she would listen. Then, I would invite her over for some coffee. From there, I had no idea what to do. As long as we got to that point, I would be set.

Picking up my cell phone, I dialed the number written on the small slip of paper. Waiting patiently, I tapped my fingers on my thigh. As soon as the phone started ringing, my heart was in my throat, all traces of coolness gone. Instead, a nervous wreck sat on the couch, breathing like Darth Vater. By the third ring, I couldn't take it. Ending the call abruptly, I set down the cell and shook my head.

Who was I kidding? Sam wasn't going to want to talk to me. Not after the way I acted. This was all so _wrong_. Here I was trying get back into her good graces, when she probably thought I was scum on the bottom of her shoe.

I felt like a fucking pansy for giving up so easily, but what was the point? My ideas never went according to plan anyway. Even though I wanted to fight for Sam, what was I going to do? I didn't have a clue where she was staying, and it would be awkward if I just called Carly up and asked. Showing up unannounced to see Sam was something I couldn't do. First of all, I didn't have the courage. And second, she might hurt me for not notifying her first. She may have liked surprising other people, but she hated it when it happened to her.

Clenching my teeth, I stood up. My brain screamed at me, telling me to man up and call her back. But my will was weak and I gave into the ache. The only way to fix that ache was to go raid the cabinet and fridge. So with a heavy heart and an empty stomach, I trudged into the kitchen to begin the cycle again.

* * *

After three beers, I felt a little better. I hadn't touched the whiskey yet—that would come later. I'd probably down at least two bottles after I finished making dinner. I wasn't exactly a light weight, so it usually took quite a few drinks for me to zonk out. The hangovers were never fun, but I knew how to cure them, so it wasn't really a big deal.

Hovering around the kitchen, I started working on what I'd actually eat. As much as I loved drinking, my body craved food, too. I normally ate at home, so I wouldn't have a problem with drinking and driving. Although, some days, I would go to a restaurant first and then hit the bar to complete my evening.

Putting a pot water on the stove, I set it on high so that it could boil. Spaghetti sounded good tonight; all of the fixings were in the fridge and cabinets. Walking over to the fridge, I fished out onions, mushrooms, and the spaghetti sauce. I pulled out the cutting board from a drawer to chop up the vegetables, but before I could do that, the doorbell rang.

Frowning, I wiped my hands on my jeans. Who could possibly be visiting me? I furrowed my brow and made my way to the front door. Opening it up hesitantly, my eyes widened at my visitor.

There stood Samantha Benson, clad in a pair of light wash jeans, gray sneakers, and an oversized navy blue sweater. Her long, blonde hair flowed around her, looking as soft and golden as the day she left. Her electric blue eyes were rimmed with red, and small bags hung underneath her eyes.

"Hello, Freddie," she said quietly, avoiding my gaze.

"Hi, Sam," I answered stiffly, feeling my heartbeat roar in my ears. I gripped onto the door frame to steady myself.

"You called earlier?"

She lifted her head to meet my eyes, and once I really looked into those baby-blues, my heart lurched in my chest. Like always, she could be read like a book. Her eyes radiated every emotion she felt, which at this point was mainly sorrow and regret.

I swallowed, chuckling nervously. "Yeah. I hung up, though. Too chicken."

Another emotion flashed across her eyes. I couldn't catch what it was; it stayed for a brief moment before dissolving.

"Did you need something?" She kept her voice stable, calm. Despite what her eyes were saying, Sam remained collected and firm. She never did like to show weakness, even to her own husband.

"Yes. But why don't you come in first? It's a little chilly outside."

I motioned for her to come inside, and she followed silently behind. Kicking off her shoes, she shuffled beside me until we stopped in the kitchen. The water began boiling, but I turned it off, knowing that I wasn't going to get around to cooking with Sam here.

"You were in the middle of making dinner," she pointed out. "I'm sorry I interrupted." She leaned against the sink, looking rather uncomfortable.

"It's no trouble. You're fine," I said from the stove.

We remained frozen in our spots, unsure of what to say. The awkwardness hung in the air and the tension was so thick that it cut be cut with a knife. We simply gazed at one another, memorizing each other's faces. It had been far too long.

She cleared her throat. "Um, what was it that you needed? I can leave as soon as we're done talking so you can go back to cooking."

Sighing, I shook my head. This was getting absurd. "What are we doing, Sam?" I asked point blank.

She flinched slightly. "What are you talking about?"

I strode over to her, so that only a few inches separated us. "_This_. " I gestured to her and then to me.

"I don't know," she mumbled.

Reaching out, I gathered both of her hands in mine. She stared back at me with uncertainty. With her eyes, she asked, "_What are you doing?_"

"Sam, I'm sorry I was an absolute jerk yesterday. Actually, I can't even say in words how sorry I am. I didn't know what I was doing—drinking takes all of the sanity away from me. But that's another issue. At any rate, you called yesterday to explain. I didn't give you the chance you deserved, so is there any way you could do it now? _Please?"_ I pleaded, hoping she would cave.

"I can't. You wouldn't understand." Her voice trembled, which was out of character for her. Even when she was vulnerable, she _tried_ to be strong.

"What do you mean I wouldn't understand?"

"I was stupid to think that I could explain it. I should go," she muttered, removing my hands. She stepped away from me, ready to flee the house when I grabbed onto her wrist.

"Where do you think you're going?" I wasn't harsh, but she recoiled at my words.

She freed herself easily. "Away. You don't need me here. It's obvious that you're okay without me. Goodbye, Freddie." She whirled around, dashing off for the living room, because it was a short cut to the front door.

Before she could make it there, I took a hold of her shoulders, stopping her escape.

"Don't you dare think for a second that what you said is true. You _know_ better than to believe that I'm all right, Sam. Just _look _at me," I said in dangerously low voice, pointing to myself. "I drink until my body can't hold any more alcohol in it. I get up in the morning, go to work, and come up to nurse another bottle of whisky or beer. I haven't slept and I hardly eat. God damn it! Can't you see the _hell_ I've been putting myself through?" I shouted the last part, which caused her to wince.

"Let me go," she mumbled miserably, not bothering to fight back.

"Not until you tell me why you left," I gritted through my teeth.

Her blue eyes suddenly filled with bubbling tears. "You just don't understand."

A few tears ran down her cheeks, and I couldn't resist the urge to brush them away with the pads of my thumbs.

"What don't I understand?" I asked in an equally soft voice.

"I'm not young and beautiful anymore. I can't give you what you deserve."

The force of her words hit me like slap. I flinched like it had been a real hit, and took a small step away from her.

"What are you talking about, Sam?" Confusion made my head start to throb and my hands to sweat. What could she possibly mean by that?

"I'm no longer young and beautiful. I'm a mess, Freddie. Just a mess."

More tears leaked from her eyes, streaming down her gorgeous face. She closed the distance between us by throwing her arms around my body and pressing her face against my shoulder. She continued to sob, letting the sadness wash over her. Her body twitched with each cry, and I held onto her to keep her from flailing around.

"Shhh, Sam. It'll be okay," I breathed into her ear.

"No, it won't. Things will never be like they used to," she managed to get out.

Instead of appeasing her and going along with her babble-speak, I gently pulled away to look at her. "Tell me what this is all about. I need to know what you're talking about, Sam. You're scaring me."

"The fight," she whispered, withdrawing from my embrace. The tears had subsided for the moment, and she crossed the room, her back facing me. She ran a hand along the fireplace mantle, glancing at each picture of us. My eyes followed her, trying to figure out what was going on inside of her head. She let out a sigh and turned to look at me.

"I was saving you during that. I left because I knew you couldn't stand to be with someone like me anymore. You deserve better than me. Everyone one in the world agrees with me, even the people at work. When I used to walk in, they would stare at me in disgust because they couldn't believe I was married to you: the next corporate CEO of Pear. I'm nothing compared to that. You need someone who's on the same page as you. Someone who won't drive you to alcohol for comfort. Someone who doesn't _leave_ to save you. You don't need me."

She _was _right. She was a mess, and I had never seen anyone look as beautiful when they fell apart as she did in that moment.

"Samantha Joy Benson, come here," I said.

She wordlessly obeyed and inched forward. We both dropped onto the couch, and she hesitantly sat on my lap. I drew her closer to my body, wrapping my arms around her lithe frame.

I leaned down to murmur, "Who told you that you're not beautiful?"

"I did," she answered, terror shining in her deep, blazing eyes. "I've been telling myself every day for past year or so. I started to believe it after a while. You don't know the kinds of people I work with. I wasn't kidding when I said there was tension in the office. Everyone wants to be the best, and if it means tearing others down, they'll do it." She paused to take a breath before continuing on.

"I was an easy target because I was young. Of course, I tried to fight back—I really did. But they all said they would rat me out to the boss because I was the rookie, despite being editor_._ They hated me because so many of them strived for my position, but failed. And there was me, dancing into this career with the least amount of knowledge, and I got the job. It's a giant mess. Anyway, they made me see that I'm not right for you. C'mon, Freddie. You could do so much better than me."

"Do you honestly believe that?" I wondered.

I tried to keep my tone quiet, as not to freak her out any more than she already was. More than anything, I wanted her to see how ridiculous she was being. Did she really doubt my feelings about her?

"Yes. There are a million other girls out there without the baggage that I carry. They could make you happy. Isn't that what you want?"

I ignored her question. Without jostling her too much, I picked her up bridal-style.

"Where are you taking me?" She sounded somewhat amused, but it was hidden underneath her confusion and worry.

"Our room. I need to show you something."

I carried her the few feet to the bedroom, and once we got there, I carefully placed her on the bed. Her eyes darted around the familiar space, trying to commit everything back into her memory.

"Hang on a second, Sam. I'll be right back."

Disappearing into the closet, I pushed the clothes away to grab the one thing that could change her mind. When I returned, she was still sitting on the bed, slumped against the pillows. She raised an eyebrow at the object in my hands.

"What is that?" she asked, tilting her head in puzzlement.

"It's the thing that will get you to see how incredibly wrong you are. Your assumptions are way off, Sam. Look at this and tell me what you see."

Removing the cloth, I unveiled a canvas board. I set it on the bed, taking a step back and watching her in bated breath. As she stared at the piece, her mouth dropped open. No words escaped; she was completely silent for once in her life. She couldn't resist the urge to touch it, and her fingers timidly made contact with the canvas. She traced the patterns, going over the delicate lines of detail.

Gazing back at Sam was a picture of herself—one that I had painted. After the first week of her absence, I couldn't stand not seeing her beauty radiating around the house. I needed something to preserve the memory of her that I had left, and photographs didn't do a good enough job at capturing her beauty. I figured I might as well give it a shot, even though I wasn't the best artist in the world. I could paint at least, so one afternoon, I took the shift off of work to go buy paints and a canvas. I painted from memory; every single detail was something I remembered about her.

Eventually, all of the colors and lines blended to together to form an image: Sam, walking along a side walk lined with cherry blossom trees. Her blonde curls blew in the wind, and her brilliant blue eyes shined with happiness. Some of the blossoms were caught in her hair, highlighting it a bit. She looked beyond beautiful in the picture, but it was only a picture. Here she was, sitting right in front of me, her beauty a reality.

"Freddie…" she began, but trailed off.

"What is it?" I gently prodded.

"How did you do this? You must have spent so long working on it. I can't even describe how utterly…breathtaking it is. And more importantly, _why _did you do this?"

Even when she asked these questions, her eyes didn't stray from the painting.

"I'll answer the how first. I spent about four months painting it; each day had a two hour block dedicated to working on it. It was difficult getting all of the little details, considering I did it all from memory. Still, I managed to get it done two months ago. It's been in the closet since then. I look at it from time to time, just to remind myself that you're still out there."

She finally tore her eyes away from the picture. "You answered the how part. Now I want to know why. Why would you spend your time on this when you could have done other things?"

I climbed into bed, sitting opposite of her. Leaning forward, I cupped her face in my hands and stared into those endless blue pools.

"I did it because you are the most beautiful person I've ever met, Sam. And I don't just mean the way you look. You are so god damn beautiful that it hurts sometimes. Do you honestly think I want a simple life with a nice girl? Hell no. I want _you_, and only you. You drive me insane, but you know what? I love it. I love how you can make me weak in the knees by just looking at me. I love how you frustrate me to the point where I want to tear my hair out. And I love how unpredictable my life has become since the day I met you. Our relationship is far from easy—it's complicated and rough. And I wouldn't have it any other way. _You _are my missing puzzle piece, Sam."

"Freddie, I—"

She didn't get to finish her sentence because my lips were on hers in the next moment. She didn't respond at first, but after adjusting to the feeling of my lips, she slowly started to kiss me back. Her soft mouth moved with mine, and her hands moved to thread her fingers through my hair. I held her around the waist, locking her in an embrace that she couldn't easily get out of.

When we pulled apart a couple minutes later, we were both left breathless. I looked at her, and instead of the forlorn expression she had previously worn, her face lit up with a certain amount of contentment.

"You were saying?" I chuckled quietly.

"I don't even remember," she giggled, and a ghost of a smile fell on her lips.

All teasing aside, I chose to head back into dangerous waters. "Do understand what I'm trying to tell you?"

She nodded, but her eyes were guarded. "Yeah. You painted that picture because that's how you see me. You think I'm beautiful, both inside and out. And it's time for me to see myself that way. I shouldn't listen to what other people say because no matter what, you'll love me. And there's not a damn thing anyone could do to change that."

"I think you've got the right idea." I smiled at her and brushed my lips against her forehead.

"You know it's not going to be easy, right? We still have a lot to talk about. I'm still going to have issues at work, especially now that I'm in Seattle again. You still have a drinking problem that has to get dealt with. And we need to figure what to do about us."

She was taking charge, as usual, but I could detect the doubt behind her noble exterior.

"I know it won't be easy. That's not what I'm asking for. I just need possible. You're here now, and that's all that matters. I don't care if we spend months trying to build back what we had before. I'm willing to give up any amount of time as long as you're back in my life."

"Are you sure about that?" Her voice shook, displaying the fact that she was unsure about everything. "I left you and sent you divorce papers. You have the right to be unbearably disappointed and angry with me."

"I _was_ angry and disappointed, but now that you're here, I'm fine. If rebuilding what we had means going through marriage counseling, AA meetings, and getting you a new job, then I'll do it. I'm not letting you leave a second time."

"You must really love me, otherwise you'd never put yourself through such hell." The ghost of a smile from before turned into a small grin.

"I do. You are frustrating, insane, maddening-"

"Way to make me feel better," she scoffed.

Raising an eyebrow, I continued, "You didn't let me finish. As I was saying, you're all of those things, and your snarkiness does get the better of you. _But_ you're also hilarious, intelligent, and vivacious. And that's why we've been together for as long as we have. We're not Freddie and Sam. We're _Seddie._ We've been Seddie since iCarly started, and there isn't a single person out there that should think differently."

Leaning forward slightly, she pressed her lips against my cheek. "Thank you."

I didn't have to ask what for—it was already evident in her eyes. I nodded, and reached for her hand. Pulling her off of the bed, I led her to the window. Opening it, I guided her outside onto our balcony (I had it added when the house was built to resemble the old fire escape at Bushwell; of course, it was a bit nicer than fire escape).

She walked to the ledge, leaning her arms on it. The moon was out, shining brilliantly in the black sky. I came up behind her, gently draping my arms around her waist.

"I haven't been out here since you left. It didn't feel right," I murmured.

She turned around, sadness reflecting in her eyes. "Freddie, I'm so sorry."

"It'll be okay, Sam. You're here and I'm here. _We'll_ be okay," I reassured her.

She seemed satisfied with that answer, so she spun around to continue gazing at the sky. I held onto her from behind, looking up into the darkness. It was true—everything would be okay. I thought back to Joe and Lucy and how they managed to work things out. If they had done it, I was positive that we could do it, too.

Sure, our relationship wasn't easy. It had its ups and downs, and it left us both exhausted and breathless. But it was worth it. Sam and I were puzzle pieces: we could only make a picture if we were put together. And that image we made was…infinitely _picturesque._

* * *

**_Review, please? Like I said, I'm a bit rusty, and reviews would be greatly appreciated :)  
_**


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